


Well Aloha, Cowboy

by Michi27



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Biting, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Butt Plugs, DeanCas - Freeform, Desperate, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, Fucking, Gay Bar, HARD, Kissing, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Marking, Porn, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Smut, Stranger Sex, Strangers, Tattoos, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, like literally - Freeform, my favorite tag, unprotected sex, way too much fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 13:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12727560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michi27/pseuds/Michi27
Summary: Porn, drag, this place—they weren’t really Castiel’s… “thing.” Not that he was opposed to any of them. He just wasn’t one to partake. It took his brother coming to town for one night and dragging him to this den of iniquity to even realize its existence, literally two streets away from his house. And… yes, it had been nice, it had been hot, the shows, the bare-chested bartenders, the sheen of sweat on acres of skin. The scent. The music. The men or women making out hot and heavy, rubbing against each other, hitting on Castiel… But in all likelihood, he still probably wouldn’t have come back. Until he saw—He blinked. Sound silenced to a dull ringing, everything slowed, everyone faded. And his eyes focused. Saliva filled his mouth, heat curled in his belly, and the constriction in his pants became more…noticeable.—Dean.Or in another words, Castiel falls in lust with Dean, and Dean happens to be looking for a good fuck. Bet you can guess what happens next.





	Well Aloha, Cowboy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoudenSwainfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudenSwainfangirl/gifts).



> This work is entirely inspired by my friend LoudenSwainFangirl and our delightful DM convos ;) Without her this wouldn't have existed, so I hope she, and everyone else who happens to read, enjoys.
> 
> Let me know what you think, what you liked or didn't like.
> 
> And have fun!

“Relax a little, baby. Take off some layers. We won’t bite unless you ask.” The large, curvy man with the pink hair and red lips curled his hand in Castiel’s tie. He leaned in and reeled Castiel closer, stopping just shy of nose to nose. So close the drag queen’s smoky, pungent scent curled beneath Castiel’s nose. _Incense_ , he thought. “You’re _cute_ ,” the queen rumbled, his voice low and sultry. A thick, pink tongue swept across those cherry lips.

“Thank you,” Castiel answered. “But I am, actually, quite comfortable.”

He laughed, deep in his throat, and eased back, eyeing Castiel up and down unabashedly. “Such _fine_ blue eyes. What I wouldn’t give to see what’s beneath that _dismal_ trenchcoat.” He purred. Actually purred. “But, if you insist…” He flipped Castiel’s tie back in Castiel’s face and sauntered away. Within moments he was between some guy even taller than him, and a column, rubbing back against it sensuously.

That had been… interesting. But the pink-haired queen or his drag compatriots were not why Castiel had come to Woof’s tonight. Though they _were_ fun to watch, at least as interesting as those who came to watch them. The crowd around Castiel was nearly as wild, brazen, daring as any of the erotic dancers at the bar tonight. Most were were laughing, caterwauling, prancing, drinking, moving and swaying, most in some state of undress or sin, drunk and happy, sitting in laps, ruffling hair, _necking_.

Skin and booze and sweat and musk, overlaid by a miasma of cloying perfume and sweet cologne filled Castiel’s sinuses. He’d sneezed twice when he stepped through the door earlier that night. But after he got used to the tang in the back of his throat and the slight sting in his nose, he found the synthesis weirdly erotic.

Or… maybe it was just be the porn. The subtext of moans and slapping flesh on the televisions throughout the large room, barely decipherable beneath the chatter and the sultry music, playing loud and _suggestive_ for the show—but there all the same, just beneath the surface, suffusing the room with heat.

Whatever it was, the atmosphere had Castiel continually half hard, a state shared, he could tell, by at least half the other men in the room. And Castiel hadn’t even seen the walking _sex_ he’d come back a second, and now a third time just to see yet.

Porn, drag, this place—they weren’t really Castiel’s… “thing.” Not that he was _opposed_ to any of them. He just wasn’t one to partake. It took his brother coming to town for _one_ _night_ and dragging him to this den of iniquity to even realize its existence, literally two streets away from his house. And… yes, it had been nice, it had been hot, the shows, the bare-chested bartenders, the sheen of sweat on acres of skin. The scent. The music. The men or women making out hot and heavy, rubbing against each other, hitting on Castiel… But in all likelihood, he still probably wouldn’t have come back. Until he saw—

He blinked. Sound silenced to a dull ringing, everything slowed, every _one_ faded. And his eyes focused. Saliva filled his mouth, heat curled in his belly, and the constriction in his pants became more… _noticeable_.

—Dean.

 _Dean_. Whose name he’d learned from some passing bartender that first night. Who, he discovered, came here most Saturday nights. Who was… who was… _God_ , liquid fire in the flesh. That first night he wore leather, a tight t-shirt, brown leather jacket, skinny leather pants _tight_ on his thighs and his ass.

Tonight, all he wore were ripped jeans and a sleeveless, black denim jacket with a hood—hood down—jacket unzipped, showing off his round shoulders and powerful arms, his abs, and the—fuck—the _ink_ on his torso. He wasn’t covered, he just had a… a _few_ —across his collar bone, over his heart, curving around his shoulders—but of what Castiel could see, they were _glorious._ He wished he could see them closer. He wished he could trace them with his fingertips, turn him around and follow the curve of feathers across his shoulders, tear off his jacket and _see_ the wings on his back. See him. _Taste_ him. _Oh. God._ Castiel shifted in his seat, breathing through parted lips, feeling the tremor in his hands and hardly caring.

Dean’s hair was buzzed above his ears, thick and spiked in the middle. He wore a ring on the pinky of his right hand, but other than that he had no jewelry. Just a deadly smirk and a penchant for _fun_. Fun Castiel had never particularly cared for before he saw Dean across the room. Fun he wanted now—he _wanted_ —like he couldn’t remember wanting anything.

Dean threw back three shots, his long throat stretched, exposed, bobbing with—with something sinful. And delicious. Castiel’s tongue wet his lips. He wanted Dean. But Dean was leaning on the bar, smirking at the broad, bare-chested bartender—and Castiel—Castiel didn’t know how to ask for him. He didn’t know how to be “subtle.” As Gabriel had told him a thousand times, “he couldn’t flirt for shit.” Enticing this… dark god of beauty back to his home when Dean could have any man or woman on their knees _begging_ seemed… impossible.

He wanted. But he didn’t know how to _get_. So he sat. And he stared.

 

***

 

“You wanna bet?” Dean smiled slow and wicked.

“Ten minutes?” Benny laughed, skeptical. But then he eyed Dean, up and down. His nostrils flared as he considered, and for a second Dean thought he’d gotten him, _intrigued_ him just enough Benny wanted to try. But then he took a half step back and shook his head, “I would if I could—trust me, brother. But last time I wandered off with you into a closet Balthazar kicked my ass.”

“Sounds fun,” Dean snarked. Benny rolled his eyes and poured another two shots to Dean’s gesture.

“Not that kind of play. Unfortunately.”

Dean shrugged. “Alright then. Your loss.”

“Don’t I know it,” Benny grumbled, regarding him regretfully before wandering off to answer some other order.

Dean drank his shots and leaned back on the bar—the buzz of the alcohol just barely there inside his veins—and raked his eyes across the carnal ebb and tide of the room. He focused briefly on the flatscreen on the wall in the corner where one dude had his face in the other’s ass, licking and sucking and—fuck, but had it been a long time since Dean had a rim job.

A wave of tingly pleasure rose up his spine when Dean shifted and the plug in his ass just barely nudged his prostate. He sighed, his cock hardening a little more in his jeans, and he just resisted the urge to fidget and better feel the hard length inside him.

Dean’s jeans were loose tonight on purpose, low on his hips and roomy enough to make the half-hard dick in them just a faint tent in the front. Noticeable? Sure. He didn’t actually care if anyone knew he was sporting goods, but he appreciated the room to move, the ability to grind against something or—better yet— _someone_ without his pants becoming so tight they hurt.

He licked his lips and shifted against the bar anyway, feeling the plug move with him and clenching down. He hissed beneath his breath. God, but did he want to be filled tonight. Benny was always a hot fuck, when he wasn’t working (or even when he was, heh), but that didn’t appear to be happening tonight. Dean would need somebody else. Somebody hot, preferably. Somebody with a dick.

He raked his eyes across the room, looking for options. He came here often enough to know most of the regulars by name—and availability—at least, which ones would be open to fucking him, and he nodded or waved or winked more than once as he scanned the crowd. There was Luci with his puppy Crowley. They were open to threesomes sometimes, but not the kind Dean was interested in tonight. Pamela was always a good lay, but she lacked the equipment Dean wanted. Michael—Oooh, Michael, he had a fucking _sword_ and knew how to use it. He was definitely going on the possibilities list. Alfie was in drag tonight (and _gorgeous_ ). Victor was here, but—

 _Oh_.

Dean stopped. Went back.

_Well aloha, cowboy._

His dick twitched with interest; Dean shifted; the plug caught on his rim, and a tremor of arousal licked through his veins. There was this… guy… with a freakin’ mess of dark hair _eye-fucking_ him across the room. He was just sitting there, ignoring the show going on in front of him, wearing a—Dean snorted—was that a suit and tie beneath his trenchcoat!? What kind of crazy wears a suit to a gay bar?

 _A sexy crazy_ , his mind whispered. Which was, let’s be honestly, entirely true. Even if the guy hadn’t been smoldering right now, which was… _intensely_ sexy… that jaw, the five o’clock shadow, the lips—Christ, did he have kissable lips—would do it for him.

Dean found himself wetting his lips without realizing it.

He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to feel his tongue inside his mouth and suck on it.

_Yes. Fuck yes._

He winked, and even in the sketchy lighting, even with the people crowding in and out and around, and—even with it all, Dean swore he saw the dude’s face flush. His smolder _intensified_ and that was it.

Like a dick in a hole, Dean was drawn in. Even when someone, laughing, walked in front of him, tripped by him, crowded between him and his object, his gaze didn’t waver, his body didn’t stop. He straddled the guy and welcoming hands came up to press into his back. He got one quick look of wide, dark eyes and plush lips, and then Dean curved forward and kissed him. Hard.

There was about a two-second window of surprise, and then a groan wrapped around him, warm and wet and somehow _filthier_ than the subliminal chorus of ecstasy threaded through the room. Their lips slid together, and a hot tongue followed, licking up Dean’s lips and then fucking inside like he _knew_ that was what Dean wanted. Except he was desperate, _demanding_ , greedy, and holy _fucking Christ. Delicious._ The guy lapped him up like his mouth was bowl of honey, and it was fucking _awesome_.

Dean’s cock throbbed in his pants, stiffening with hot-blooded arousal and he rubbed against the stomach in front of him, grinding against hard torso and getting a grunting sound of approval in response. Hands tightened on his back, the hard piece of _not_ _real_ inside him brushed against something, and burning _desire_ thrummed through him. What he _wanted_ before he suddenly _needed_. A _real_ dick up his ass. A hard fuck. A hot guy _taking_ pleasure from his body.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, grinding up against the willing stomach, rolling back against nothing, needing, needing, needing.

“That about sums it up,” the guy responded, and his voice was this—it was this deep throaty _grind_ , like velvet and rocks, and was there anything about this guy that wasn’t hot?

“ _God_ , you’re hot,” Dean breathed. “Dean,” he told him. “’M Dean.”

“Hello, Dean.” The guy licked his chin—he—he fucking licked his chin, slow and _wet_ and—

“S-So, do you gotta name, or should I just give you one?”

The tongue dipped down his throat. Lips tickled over his esophagus, and he dropped his head back to feel the teeth nibble at his neck. “Castiel,” he answered. “My name is Castiel.”

“Cas-ti-el? Well, that’s a fucking mouthful, ain’t it.” A lifted shoulder, a mumbled nothing, a nibble in the cavity between his collar bones. This guy freakin’ _knew_ how to use his mouth and, better yet, couldn’t seem to stop tasting, sucking. “C-Cas. How about Cas? Hey, Cas?” He fisted his hands in the man’s hair—and when did he bury them there in the first place?—and pulled Castiel’s back so he could look at him. The guy’s face was flushed, his lips red, desire all over his face, and Dean took a breath, breathless. “You wanna fuck me, Cas?”

Whatever remained of the dude’s lazuline irises disappeared in pupil, black, dark. Hips thrust up against his ass, just brushing the plug inside, and his groan of pleasure was echoed in infinite arousal by Castiel.

“ _Yes_.”

 

***

 

It was _hard_ driving back to his place, and even Gabriel would be happy at all the puns in that sentence. His penis was hurting inside of his tight pants. Castiel was _hard_ , full-on, leaking hard, and they had barely shifted out of the parking lot. He moved in his seat, pulling at his pants, trying to loosen the crotch, and Dean made this heavy, strangled sound, rubbing down against the seat, apparently searching for some kind of stimulation. “How are you this hot?” he hissed.

The car smelled of hair gel and arousal and _Dean_. Something earthy Castiel couldn’t identify, mixed with gunmetal tang. It was very distracting. Dean, staring at him, rubbing the seat with his ass, licking his lips was very, _very_ distracting.

“’S not far,” Castiel managed. “Two streets.”

“Thank God,” Dean replied. “Want your dick. Want to feel you. Want to kiss you.”

Cas moaned.

He ran a red light and almost crashed twice.

When he got there, he jarred to a halt, and he barely, barely remembered to shift into park or bring his keys. He was out the door fast, but somehow Dean was faster. He didn’t really register when he got shoved against the car, all he knew was Dean’s hot body pressing into his and the knee between his legs rubbing against his cock. “You want this,” Dean whispered in his ear.

“Yes,” Cas gasped. “Want you.” Wet warmth flicked along his ear. It was late at night—past midnight—but his neighbor next door had a dog and sometimes walked him late, and the lady across the street had binoculars she watched the street with, and Dean was pushing Cas against his car, sucking a mark on the underside of his jaw, grinding against Castiel’s hard and straining groin, and “—Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—“ the mantra fell from his lips in a keening, keening. It was so good, too good—he needed—in the house—he—couldn’t—his hands fisted in Dean’s jacket, and he pulled him forward and crashed their lips together. He _groaned_ , his wild, rushing thoughts coalescing, the _taste_ of Dean and the liquor on the tongue licking into his mouth focusing his mind, his _need_.

In the house. They had to get inside the damn house.

“You’re a _god_ ,” he gasped, shoving Dean back, tearing him away, and then colliding with him again because he couldn’t keep off. They stumbled towards the door, a give and take of teeth and hands and pulling and pushing and need and want, and somewhere along the way, Cas lost his trenchcoat.

His hands _shook_. The keys jangled when he reached the door, and the arms that encircled him, the kisses on the back of his neck, the hands that stroked lower, lower, did not help him get the stupid fucking shit door _open_ , and he yelled, actually yelled. It took gripping the key with both hands, shoving it into the lock, turning, pushing, to get the damn thing open, and stumbling inside with Dean wrapped around him.

 _Finally_.

_Finally!_

A growl caught in his throat, and he grabbed Dean—sex—sin— _his_ —and threw him against the wall, trapping him with his body.

“ _Fuck_ , _yes_ ,” Dean hissed before Castiel shoved his tongue in his mouth and _shut him up_. Fire _curled_ in his belly, danced up his arms, burned in his veins, liquid—liquid fire—Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean—

“ _Dean_ ,” he groaned.

“Yes! Cas, God, yes. Your mouth—so good—“ Hands ripped off Castiel’s jacket, clawed at his shirt. A snarl wrenched itself from this—this creature, and Cas’ tie was thrown aside. Fingers scrabbled at the collar of his shirt, and Dean ripped it open, buttons dropping, bouncing—and hands. _Hands_ , on his chest, on his stomach, moving, touching, touching—

“God, Dean, how I’ve _wanted_ you.”

Hands curled around his neck, hips thrust against him, groans of frustration filled the air. “S-Saw me, did you, Cas?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas growled, pulling off Dean’s jacket, laying his palms on that chest, on those tattoos, crazy shapes in the darkness, swirling patterns, strange words. He traced them anyway, running fingertips across skin burning hot, twisting at the nipples they found.

“ _Nnng--!_ Cas—holy—fucking—“ Fingernails dug in his scalp and pulled him down to lips and teeth, and they lost themselves in sucking and biting.

Soft-rough texture of carpet pressed into his palms—and—and when did they sink to the floor?—and—and Dean beneath him, _groaning_ , hands tangling in belt. He was shaking. He was shaking just as much as Castiel. He yanked and tugged. “Off!” he commanded. “F-Fucking off, Cas, I need you. I—I—“ A gasp of success when the belt came undone. The zipper was pulled down, thumbs hooked in his waistband, and Dean shoved pants and boxers both down to his knees. Cas made a sound of relief as his aching cock finally sprang free, hard, leaking. Dean _whined_. A fist closed around him, and Cas _spasmed_ with pleasure—so good, so good, so—

“—good!” Cas whimpered, shuddering, and thrust into that palm. It was dry and rough, but any stimulation when he was so hard, _so_ _hard_ , was bliss.

“Yes! God, Cas—Cas—fucking—fuck me! _Please_.” Dean begged, and Cas’ cock twitched and throbbed and—he grabbed Dean’s wrist, stopping him from touching—from—from _moving_ because he was—too—fucking—close— _already_. He trapped Dean’s wrist in the carpet above his head, pressing him into the floor and a whimper of arousal spilled into the air. Dean arched on the carpet, craving, desperate. _Beautiful_.

“Your turn,” Cas gasped, kissing him once—twice—quick—or, or trying to be, and then he let go and pulled at Dean’s pants—his low-fucking-riding pants—and realized there was nothing beneath. No boxers, no—“ _Christ_. You’re so hot, you’re so _beautiful_ , Dean, you’re—” He yanked his pants all the way down, pulling off his boots along with them, tossing them aside, divesting himself of the remains of clothes, and—

Dean, sprawled on the carpet, gasping.

Naked.

Dark shadows of tattoos on his chest, the tips of feathers curving over his shoulders. The scent of him in the air, on Castiel’s skin. The taste—

_Mine._

_Mine._

“I want to taste you.”

Dean whined, high and keening. “Do it,” he begged. “Do it, do it, please, please.”

Castiel fell over Dean’s body, covering him with his own. The wrists he’d pressed above Dean’s head lay there still, and he grabbed them, linking hands with Dean and pressing him into the carpet, holding him down, and lowered his mouth to the base of Dean’s throat. He licked at the marks already there, and tongued the ink over his left collar bone. Dean made these encouraging little noises, gasping and crooning when Cas’ teeth grazed over his skin, so, licking his lips, he lowered his mouth and— _bit_ _down_ —hard, laving at the skin with his tongue, and Dean’s hips came off the floor. Their cocks lined up and they both _groaned_. Cas felt his eyes darken, his lids fall shut, and he bit harder, nibbling, sucking, encouraged by the _grinding_ , by the—the _squirming_ —the senseless, mindless praise and curses in the air. He lapped at his mark, soothing the sting and the mark he’d created and went lower, licking, tracing the patterns, curling his tongue, fucking into his belly button. “You taste so—You taste—You’re so delicious—Nng. _Dean_.” He thrust at Dean’s cock, dragging his hands over Dean’s body, shimmying back and licking the salty tang of sweat from the crease in Dean’s leg. He sucked a mark inside his thigh. Then finally, finally, he turned to the hard, leaking, neglected dick between Dean’s legs. He flicked out a tongue, tasting. Then dragged it upwards. A hiss filled the air, a “Yes, yes!” and Castiel closed his mouth around the head, feeling Dean writhe and _resist_ fucking up into his mouth. He swept his tongue across the tip, lapping up the dribble of _Dean_ , and his eyes rolled back, and he moaned _. So delicious. So, so delicious. Just like I-I imagined. So good, Dean, so—mine. Mine._ Hearing an answering cry of ecstasy, he sucked at the tip, relentless, while his fingers—his—his fingers dipped from balls, down his perineum, and—

Cas froze.

He touched the hard, unexpected object, and Dean shuddered, swearing. “Holy, mother of—“

A plug. Dean was wearing a—a—

Castiel’s cock throbbed. Precome wept from his tip. Saliva drooled from his mouth, and he came off Dean’s cock with a wet pop. He grabbed Dean’s legs and pushed them back, spreading him out, _presenting_ his ass. Even in the dark, he could see, he could _see_ , there, stuffed in Dean’s pucker, a plug, the base just sticking out, thick and— “ _Dean_. You’re— _incredible_.”

“Heh,” Dean huffed, breathless, arms laid out above his head. “L-Like what ya see there, Cas?”

“Y-Yes, I—“ Castiel licked his lips. Dean looked so good, his ass just as beautiful as his body, his green eyes dark with arousal, his prick, stiff and swaying, and Cas wanted to _taste_. He leaned forward and dipped his tongue in Dean’s perineum and Dean _cried_. He thrashed, and Cas hadn’t even—he hadn’t even—

He licked at Dean’s hole. He _lapped_ over the plug, circled it with his tongue. Pressed it into to Dean. Praise and chanted curses fell from Dean’s lips, and Cas tasted, sucked— “God, you’re delicious.” And _how_ did his voice come out so steady, so calm, when he was—desperate—throbbing—fucking— _Dean_.

“ _F-Fuck!_ C-Cas, so good, so good—God—how can you—fucking—yes! There. Please!”

Cas swirled his tongue along Dean’s crack, up to his perineum, down below his plug, slurping at his rim, wide and red from the toy shoved inside. He grabbed the base with his fingertips and fucked it into Dean—twisted it— _groaned_ as he lapped at the skin and basked in the sounds this delicious creature gave to him— _to him_.

_Mine. Mine. M—_

_“—ine, Dean.”_

“Yes, Cas—fuck—yours!”

Castiel moaned. “Have to—Have to get this out. Can’t—fucking—Can’t fuck you with this in—“ Castiel muttered, losing his mind, tugging on the plug, tugging, watching with greedy eyes as Dean’s rim squeezed and clenched as he _dragged_ it from him inch by inch by inch by inch by—How his hole clenched and sputtered at nothing when it _finally_ came free.

“Ooooh, Cas,” Dean whined. “S-So empty. Need you. Need you, Cas. I fucking—fucking—“ His hole clenched, and he shuddered, he _groaned_. “—Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me, Cas. _Fuck_ _me!_ ”

Castiel whimpered and swayed, his heart pounding—his mind _blanking_. “You’re incredible, but I need—I-I need—“ What? What did he need? He needed…. He couldn’t think, he-he needed “—L-Lube. Condoms,” he gasped.

“No,” Dean whined.

“I need lube, Dean!” Cas shouted, wild, desperate—

“Lube,” Dean gasped, “Yes. Condoms? Are-Are you clean Cas?”

“I—“ Fuck. Cas blinked, suddenly realized what he’d done—the taste on his mouth, so good, so—

As if reading his mind, Dean said, “I think I’m clean—almost positive. Wore condoms— _every_ time since my last check.”

Cas licked his lips, tasting Dean on them. “’M clean,” he answered.

“Are you _sure_?” Dean demanded, sounding breathless and needy even now.

With monumental effort, Castiel thought back—thought to the last time he’d fucked anybody. Remembered getting a check—remembered wearing a condom, never without a condom—“Yes, yes, wore a condom, got checked, haven’t—haven’t fucked anybody since.”

“Fuck,” Dean twitched on the floor, knees knocking together, falling apart. “Want you. Want you so bad.” Cas took a breath. Did he mean—“No condom,” Dean said. “Fuck me bare. Fill me.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Castiel swore. He shook. Looked at Dean’s clenching ass, pictured his dick inside, nothing between them, feeling his channel, tight, squeezing, drawing him in and—“ _Fuck_.”

“Lube in my pants—“

He scrambled for Dean’s pants, pawing at the pockets. A little bottle with a purple cap fell into his hands, and he _crowed_ with joy. Popping the cap, he slicked his fingers and pressed one inside Dean. It was hot, hot, burning hot, and tight, even having been filled with a plug twice the size of his finger, and Cas sucked in air, fucking in to his knuckle as Dean fucked down on him. Two slid in with zero resistance, and Dean made this—this _sound_. “More, C-Cas. _More_! Please, God, I can’t wait—can’t wait anymore.”

“Can’t—hurt you,” Cas gasped, scissoring his fingers inside Dean’s tight—wet— _Fuck, I can’t think it, I can’t think it. I need to—I-I need—_ The pathetic whine was coming from _him_ , a keen so high and he had no idea he could even make that sound.

 _Th-Three fingers. Three fingers—have to—loosen_. Tight, but, slick, and—Dean shoved down on them, whimpering, cursing. “I’m ready, Cas—I’m _ready_! Fucking _fuck_ me already!”

With a pained cry and a growl somehow mixed in Castiel pulled his fingers free, slicked up his dick, shuddering at the feeling, and lay over Dean’s body, lifting his legs around his hips and pressing kisses anywhere—anywhere. His cock nudged at Dean’s entrance, right there, so, so close, and Dean thrust down, “Yes! Cas! Please!” He thrust—

The head of his cock pushed in, and—and he was tight—and—

“Nnnnngh—Dean—Dean, Dean, Dean—“ His lips crashed sloppily down on the pink _perfect_ mouth of Dean’s, while his cock slid deeper, deeper, deeper—

“So fucking—“ Dean gasped “—Good! _Christ_ —Thick—you’re—holy fucking—“

His balls met Dean’s ass, and he was in—fully—seated—in—tight—“ _Dean_ —you’re so tight—how are you so fucking—“ A hand clawed in his hair and pulled his head down, and lips and teeth clashed together.

Instinct told him to _move_. But he couldn’t—not yet. And desperation, crazy, hard, leaking, desperation, and Castiel _shook_ , bracing himself above Dean, still. Still. Kissing him. Wait another minute. Wait, Dean has to be—ready—wait!

“So good. S-So good! Fuck me, Cas—fucking—“ Cas pulled back two inches and _cried_ at the delicious drag of Dean’s hole while he Dean _arched_ underneath him. So-So beautiful—so gorgeous—so—He thrust back in and Dean _screamed_. “Yes! God, Cas—Fu—Fuck!” Castiel did it again, pulling back a little more and then slamming back inside, and Dean cried and cried and cursed, and Castiel _moaned_.

_Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, y—_

“—es—yes!” Cas started moving, trying, _trying_ to be slow, but it was so good, _Dean_ was _so good_ , and he fucked into Dean’s ass, crying, whimpering, going crazy, _crazy_. “You’re—so—tight—Dean!” he stuttered, fucking into him with every word

“Fucking—thick! How are you—so—“ An anguished gurgle of pleasure cut off whatever Dean whatever word Dean was trying to say. “Right—there!” Cas shifted his hips and nailed the spot again, and Dean wailed, hooking his legs high on Castiel’s hips, hands clawing, fingernails _scratching_ into his back.

“So—So good—so—

“Close! Fucking—Fuck—Close, Cas. Just n—need—“ he groaned, long and loud and filthy, and Cas whimpered so done, so done, so done, so done.

 _Mine_. “Mine, Dean.”

“Yes! Y-Yours—fucking—yours, Cas.”

He moaned, biting at Dean’s neck, and fucked into his prostate, pounding that bundle of pleasure. “Come, Dean. Come for me.” Dean writhed on the carpet, breath hot, pained, pleasured, ecstasy dribbling from his lips in garble Castiel couldn’t understand, couldn’t make sense of, couldn’t—

“D-Don’t stop—S—So—so, so, so—So-fucking—so—“ Dean clenched, his muscles bunching tight, and _howled_ , shuddering, white streaks of come roping from his cock as he _came_. He _thrashed_ , his channel clenched down, tight and hard, and Cas shuddered, swearing, cursing, _groaning,_ fucking—and buried himself inside, deep, deep inside, and _came_. Hard, white blinding his vision, sounds wrenching from his throat, hips thrusting weakly while Dean tightened, _milking_ him.

He collapsed, heavy and heaving and shaking and trembling and _dizzy_ with pleasure. Spasms ricocheted through his muscles, making him twitch and shake and quake and _lose his mind_ , and all he could think was, _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean_ —

He… He blacked out, for a while, he was pretty sure. Dean might have too, he didn’t know, but when he came back, heavy-limbed, boneless—exhausted— _happy_ —Dean was prodding at his chest. “Heavy,” he grunted, laughing. Cas huffed a breath and shifted so his cock fell from Dean’s hole, and _he_ fell onto the floor beside him.

A few seconds of breathlessness passed while they both felt their hearts pounding and stared at the ceiling above them. “That… That was awesome…”

“’Awesome’ isn’t magnificent enough a word,” Cas replied with a smile.

“Did… did you just use air quotes?”

Cas blinked. “Um… yes?”

Dean snorted. Chuckled. Laughed, holding his belly and shaking his head. “I think I like you,” he mumbled against a hand rubbing the tears and snot and saliva from his face.

A warm, happy buzz feeling buzzed in Castiel’s chest like the humming of a bee. “I _definitely_ like you,” he replied. He paused, feeling the carpet underneath him, soft, but not soft enough. “Um, sorry we didn’t make it to the bedroom.”

Dean laughed again and rolled over. He pillowed his head on Castiel’s shoulder, throwing his arm over Cas’ waist and snuggling in. Cas brought his arms up and held him back. “’S’ok. Maybe next time… when I fuck you.”

Happiness and desire curled warm in Castiel’s stomach.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “Yes. Next time.”


End file.
